


Pushing Buttons

by skarletfyre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout is determined to be as annoying to as many people as he possibly can. He’s got everyone else figured out, but Medic is proving a tough one to crack. When his efforts to find out what make the doctor tick backfire spectacularly, Scout has to rethink what he was actually doing in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Buttons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ubercharge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubercharge/gifts).



> so i found this half finished, nine page, five thousand word document just sitting in my drafts and it's actually pretty fucking decent if i do say so myself. it's from a year ago, back when i was just getting back into writing, so the tone is weird and i think i change tenses like halfway through?? maybe a couple times??
> 
> but. i finished it and polished it up a bit, and now i'm posting it because it's the longest single bit of text i've written in a very long time and i'm super proud of myself. yay.
> 
> also i decided this is for [kat](http://djsckatzen.tumblr.com) because i just realized i've never written anything for them and i am ashamed

Scout has everyone figured out.

Now, Scout doesn't seem the type to even try to figure people out, but everyone's gotta be good at something, right? And Scout is good at people. Always has been. He's a people person, a real outgoing personality. And if he was a girl they'd call him a “social butterfly” or whatever. But he ain't a girl, so let's move on.

If there's one thing that Scout likes to do, it's get under other people's skin. Make his presence known, make an impression and so forth. With seven older brothers, the need to shine was great. Scout didn't like to be forgettable. He could be friendly, sure, but only after he got somebody's attention. Pushed their buttons and stuff. And it was a lot easier to push people's buttons if you knew what those buttons _were_.

Heavy was an easy one: don't touch his gun. Don't move his gun, don't look at his gun, don't breathe on his gun, don't sneeze in the same room as his gun... The list went on. The big guy's big gun was off limits.

So Scout fucked with it as often as possible.

The first time he laid a finger on it, Heavy broke his arm. He didn't mean to, but he punched pretty hard and Scout ain't actually as tough as he likes to tell everyone he is. So yeah, the compound fracture sucked, but at least the big Russian knew he existed now and would stop trying to sit on him when he wasn't looking. The gun was just an in. And Heavy would still tense up and glare at him if he looked at his weapon wrong, but now that he knew Scout wasn't actually gonna do any harm it was fine. No worries at all. Best of friends.

Spy was easy, too. Everything Scout did pissed him off. Resting his feet on the table, wearing clothes with stains on them, talking too loudly, talking too much, talking too fast, etc. Scout just talking made Spy grind his teeth so loud you could hear 'em across the room. Well, Scout talked a lot anyway, so half the work was already done for him. Now, when he wanted to get on Spy's good side – which was a very rare occurrence – he knew all he had to do was shut up for a bit and wear a clean shirt. Bam. Done.

Sniper was a tough one, though.

Kept to himself mostly, didn't like to hang out the dinner table to talk to the other mercs unless it was necessary. Every morning he'd stalk out to the battlefield and climb up into his nest, and every evening he's climb down and slink back into the base for a quick bite or a shower before heading back out to his van.

The van, Scout soon learned, where was he slept. It was also where he dressed, brushed his teeth, stored all his stuff, and called home.

He lived in a van.

And there was no way in hell Scout was letting that one go.

To this date, the longest string of words Scout had ever heard Sniper string together was a swarm of obscenities, half of which didn't make any sense, and insults to his heritage. According to Sniper it was not a _van_ , it was a _camper_ , and it was a perfectly acceptable place for a “bloke” to hang his hat, and he wasn't gonna take any “guff” from a “knob-headed bogan” like Scout.

And when he was done shouting, and after Spy had complimented him on his vocabulary, Sniper stormed off back to his not-van and didn't reappear for three days.

That was a while ago, back when they were all just getting to know each other. Nowadays, Sniper had lightened up a bit. Scout could still get a rise out of him by referencing the fact he lived in a van – a fact which unfortunately got around to the BLU team somehow – but he could also occasionally find Sniper out there, all by himself, and persuade the guy to let him sit and share a beer with him.

The rest of the team were all pretty straightforward.

Engineer didn't like people messing with his tools or schematics but was always happy to talk about what he was working on. It was way too technical for Scout to follow, but if he nodded at the right times and said “oh yeah, cool” then Engie's face would light up like a damn Christmas tree.

Pyro liked some nerdy science fiction show and had a bunch of memorabilia that absolutely no one was allowed to touch. But they were happy to let Scout sit and watch an episode or two with them. Scout didn't really understand it, but the effects were cool and the chicks were hot. And Pyro wasn't so bad, even if they did give Scout the creeps.

Demo, it turned out, was a very complicated man. He loved strong drink and bagpipes, and watching things explode into gory chunks or bits of frazzled wire. But he also loved his Scottish roots, and his family, and when he was drunk enough and Scout was quiet enough he would start slurring out some really, really weird shit. Like how he almost blew up the Loch Ness Monster, and how a wizard stole his eye, and how he apparently had a freakin' _sword_ that whispered to him when he was holding it. None of it made any sense to Scout, but it did convince him that maybe Demo wasn't a person he should be messing with under most circumstances.

Soldier was the same way. Guy had more screws loose than a busted dispenser on the best of days, but he sure knew how to use that shovel. He didn't drink, but he went through a couple cigars on an hourly basis and somehow always smelled of motor oil. He was much like Spy, in the way that every little thing that Scout did seemed to set him off. Slouching, swearing, sitting down, eating, reading, whatever. You name it, it probably pissed Soldier off. Fortunately, he was also the easiest to pacify. A salute and a sharp, “yes, sir!” and all transgressions were forgotten for the moment.

And then, there was Medic.

Scout didn't know what do to. The guy was a straight-laced as they come, a harsh taskmaster, and an absolute fiend when it came to cleaning. Yet nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers. Literally and figuratively. He kept birds, in the _operating room_ , which Scout thought was just fucking weird and unhealthy. But pointing it out only earned a chuckle. Suggesting the birds would make a nice addition to the dinner table got him a stern glare, then an amused shake of the head.

Scout tried hard to get to the doctor. By all rights, Medic should have been at his wits end. Scout tried messing with his little surgical tools but only ended cutting himself. He threw one of his red shirts in with the white washing load, but Medic only commented that the new pink of his lab coat was an “interesting distinction” before wearing it proudly out to the battlefield. And considering how fierce and downright scary he could be in a fight, the Doc was surprisingly mild mannered. He made tea in a fancy little China teapot and drank it with Heavy and Spy. He stocked the showers with funny, fancy bars of soap and girly shampoo (which Scout and the others hated to admit made their hair smell wonderful and shine luxuriously in the sun). He made a damn chore list and assigned rewards for completing special tasks, smiling brightly as he handed out gigantic lollipops and stuffed animals. Only Pyro kept the plushies, but no one was immune to the draw of the lollipops.

In his lab, Medic was another creature entirely.

His teeth were always too white under the glare of the operating lamp, and too sharp. He grinned too wide and laughed too loud, and took more “samples” than Scout thought were strictly necessary. He ran tests and experimented on anyone he could trick into strapping down – Scout learned that the hard way and now his chest kind of did a fluttering thing whenever he ate too much – and talked to his birds like they were his kids or something. But nothing pissed him off. Scout had seen him battle crazed, covered in blood and breathing too hard and wielding that saw of his like a maniac. But Scout didn't think that he had ever seen Medic _angry_ before.

And that just wouldn't do. You didn't know a person until you saw them mad as hell, his Ma always said, and Scout decided a long time ago that he was gonna know everybody worth knowing. This was his team. These were the guys at his back, and the guys who depending on him to be at theirs. He wanted to know what kinda stuff they were made out of, and he'd gotten most of them pretty figured out by now. But Medic was the outlier. And Scout wasn't gonna let that go.

“Hey, Doc!” Scout called loudly, banging open the door to the infirmary. Medic's pen slashed a startled line across the page he was writing on, and the man whipped his head around so fast it dislodged his glasses. He blinked rapidly, saw who it was, and relaxed.

“Ah, Herr Scout. What can I do for you?”

His accent made all his W's come out as V's and made “what” sound like “vat.” Scout had gotten used to it. He sauntered over and threw himself down in the chair in front of Medic's desk, tipping the brim of his hat back and shrugging idly.

“Nothin'. Just checkin' up on you is all. Ya been down here all day, man, you missed Pyro's barbecue.”

“I thought I smelled something burning,” the doctor said, smiling. His “th” sounds came out as S's, too. Made him sound like a kid with a speech impediment to Scout, but he wasn't gonna pick on the guy about that. One of his brothers couldn't made R sounds, not even after all those years of going to the school counselor. People couldn't help that shit. People _could_ help living in vans, however, so that was fair game. Scout cleared his throat.

“Well actually the burning didn't start til Demo got involved. He wanted to try “blast roasting” the bird – not one'a yours, relax – and didn't wanna hear no from nobody, so he sets the fuse, right? And Pyro didn't know about it, so they got the flamethrower out and ready and lit 'er up, and the fuse started goin' and Demo starts yelling, Pyro can't hear a damn thing under the mask so Demo starts runnin' at 'em. Then Soldier freaked out and charged at the Demo and tackled him, dislocated his shoulder – see, I told you you shoulda been there, you could hear the pop and everything you woulda loved it – and put him in a headlock. Meanwhile the fuse is still going, Demo's still screaming, Soldier's screaming too, Pyro's shootin' flames into the sky and I'm laughin' my ass off and tryin' not to spill my drink when Heavy catches on to what's happening and charges in. He takes one look at the wired-up spit roast and smacks his hand to his forehead, yells somethin' in Russian or whatever and hikes his foot back. Then he just fuckin' _punts_ the bird off the spit and into the air. It's just soaring, hanging up there, and the fuse is still running down and then _boom!_ ”

He spread his arms open, eyes wide, leaping back in his chair and waggling his fingers for effect.

“No more chicken dinner.”

Medic listened patiently, eyebrows creeping steadily higher up his forehead. He'd set his pen down, having given up fixing the dark ink slash across his writing, and steepled his fingers in front of him. Scout smiled expectantly, waiting for the doctor's reaction to his fantastic tale. All of which was true, of course. Scout's honour.

“Fascinating,” Medic said, when he realised a response was warranted. “Perhaps it is best that I remained inside after all.”

Scout's face fell.

“Nah, man, it was great. You shoulda been there. You eaten anything today? Do you _ever_ eat?”

“Of course I eat,” Medic sniffed reproachfully. “I simply do not see the purpose of taking my lunch out of doors, and dealing with fire hazards as well as insects and _other pests_.”

His tone was firm, but his expression was a warm, and slightly teasing smile. Scout scoffed in exasperation. Medic had a weird sense of humour. It'd taken Scout, and some other members of the team, a while to get the hang of it. He'd say something and sound angry, but his eyes were always laughing and playful, like he didn't mean it. Scout was getting on his nerves, keeping him from his paperwork or whatever, but he wasn't pissing him off.

No progress.

Scout stuck around a bit longer, poked at the stuff on Medic's desk for appearance's sake, but he left disheartened and no closer to an answer.

What made Medic tick?

 

* * *

 

“Medic!”

Scout was crouched behind a wall, watching the scene unfold. He could see the BLU Sniper looking down his scope, scanning across the battlefield, completely oblivious to the little red dot creeping up his forehead. The crack of the rifle was thunderous, coming from somewhere behind and above Scout. The BLU sharpshooter tumbled over the railing and was reclaimed by the Respawn just before hitting the ground. Scout groaned. He was looking forward to the splat.

Pyro had the enemy Spy on the ropes, but their own Spy was nowhere in sight, and the BLU Soldier finished off his counterpart with a vicious back-handed shovel to the face. Heavy could be heard laughing off to Scout's left, and the sound of his minigun firing up was like music to Scout's ears.

Scout caught a flash of off-white in his peripheral vision, and a few seconds later Medic was skidding around the corner beside him.

“ _Was? Was is falsch?_ ”

The doctor was breathing hard and there was a smear of blood on his cheek. His glasses were slid halfway down his nose, but miraculously not a single hair was out of place. He looked Scout up and down quickly, medigun at the ready, searching for some form of injury. He didn't find it.

Scout was grinning at him.

Now, he didn't know exactly what is was that Medic asked, but he had a pretty good idea. As such, his shrug was a pretty good approximation of an answer.

“Nothin',” he said, grinning wider as Medic's face went slack in confusion.

“You're not hurt?” the Doc asked, blinking at him.

“Nah. Not really. I mean, I got this itching at the top of my foot, right where I can't reach without taking my shoe off, ya know? Can the medigun fix that? Does it do itches?”

Medic looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“ _Itches_?” he repeated. “You called me away from the battle because you have an _itch_?”

“Yeah,” Scout said flatly. “Can you fix it?”

For a moment, Scout was sure Medic was going to hit him. The doctor's mouth worked wordlessly, putting the absurdity of the situation together in his mind. Scout worked very hard not to laugh as he watch the man's thin face draw together and eventually settle into a scowl.

“ _Dummkopf,_ ” he said, shaking his head and dislodging his glasses further. “ _Dummkopf!_ Ridiculous child! We are in the middle of a battle! We are _losing_ , and you call me here for an itch. _L_ _ä_ _cherlich!_ ”

Scout laughed, then laughed louder at Medic's murderous expression. The doctor climbed quickly to his feet and made to return the direction from which he had come. He set foot around the corner, and leapt back just in time to avoid the rocket fired at him from across the field. He pressed flat against the wall and slid down to sit down next to Scout. Scout realised too late that Heavy's laughter and firing had both stopped. Their position was overrun, and in all likelihood they were completely surrounded.

“ _Verdammt._ ”

Medic was wearing the same expression Spy wore when he said “mared” or whatever. So Scout guessed that was bad. He chanced a peek around the corner, noting the level 2 entry to his right, the Soldier directly across from them, and the BLU Sniper trying to slink back into his position. As Scout was watching, Spy uncloaked right behind the enemy Australian and drove his dagger deep between his shoulder blades. Scout pulled his head back just as another rocket was fired at them.

He took a deep breath and double checked that his shotgun was loaded. Medic looked at him.

“ _Was_ are you doing?”

“Um, I was gonna go kick some ass, but if you've got a better idea...”

“It's suicide!” Medic spluttered. Scout rolled his eyes.

“That's what Respawn is for, _dumb cough_. 'Sides. You're the Medic, right? You could always, I dunno, come with me?”

“Come with you.” Medic repeated flatly. “And do what, exactly?”

“Uh, _heal me?_ That's what you do, right? Well it's what you're supposed to do. I see some chunks of Heavy that might disagree with that, but whatever.”

Medic looked at him consideringly, then at the scorch marks from the rocket blast on the ground beside him, and sighed heavily.

“Fine, fine. Give me a moment to – ah, there we are.” The medigun hummed to life in his hands. “We go on your mark, _ja?_ ”

“Yeah,” Scout grinned. He reached out a hand and flicked Medic's glasses back into place, grinning broadly at the doctor's startled expression. “Just try and keep up, 'kay Doc?”

 

* * *

 

Scout yawned as he entered the Mess Hall/Rec Room.

It was past three in the afternoon, but he'd only just woken up. His neck was stiff from sleeping on his back, resting his head back on the too-thin pillow, and his left foot was all numb and tingly from being tucked under the under one for who knows how long. His ankle was gonna be fucked up all day, he just knew it.

Scout needed food.

He'd missed lunch, and dinner was still hours away. If Soldier caught him snacking between meals he'd make Scout do push ups. There was a half eaten protein bar back in his room, but he didn't feel like walking all that way back. He just got here. If he left now, he'd look stupid.

And then, he saw it.

A Sandvich.

It was across the room, sitting near the edge of one of the little round activity tables that wobbled no matter how many times Engineer tried to balance them. Right next to Heavy's elbow. And across from Heavy, rubbing his chin with his brow creased in thought, was Medic.

Suddenly, Scout wasn't so tired anymore.

The Doc had been holed up in his lab for the past week, keeping his door locked and carefully screening visitors for admittance. No injury, no entry. Scout had originally thought it would be the perfect opportunity to have some fun and try to get Medic riled up by playing Ding Dong Ditch – more like Knock Knock And Run Away, but still. It was even working, too. For a while. But that before Medic set the birds on him.

So with three days of no contact with the man, Scout was no closer to an answer. But today was the day. He could feel it in his bones.

Today was the day he would figure Medic out.

“Hey, fellas,” he called, sauntering up and dexterously lifting Heavy's sandwich off its plate. The big man glared at him, and that glare only deepened when Scout opened his mouth wide and bit a huge chunk out of the edge. He quickly slipped behind Medic for protection as he chewed.

“What'cha doin'?” Scout asked around his mouthful, peering over Medic's shoulder.

The Doc was tense. He was weird about personal space, Scout knew that much already. The crazy German was totally fine when he was digging around gloveless in a teammate's torso, but as soon as somebody patted him on the back or gave him a hug – Pyro did it, once – he clammed up. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was Scout's in.

“Go away, little man,” Heavy warned, still glaring. He did the same thing with his W's that Medic did, making them sound like V's, but in a different way. “We are busy.”

“Busy doin' what?” Scout asked, leaning closer over Medic. “Pushin' little nubs of plastic around? Doesn't look busy, just boring. Who's winning, anyway?”

“I am,” Medic said, at the said time that Heavy said, “Me.”

They stared at each other across the board for a moment before Medic cleared his throat.

“We are both doing our best,” he said stiffly. Scout rolled his eyes, and casually as he could rested his arm on the doctor's shoulder and leaned against him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scout said, speaking as if he didn't notice the way Medic had gone stock still, or the way Heavy's eyebrows shot up his forehead. “That just means you're both losing. Aren't you supposed to be good at this? I mean, you guys are always playin' it, or with Engie or Spy. Well, I _assume_ you're playin', 'cause all you ever do is sit here and stare at the pieces for freakin' ever before somebody actually touches something, then you do it all over again. What's the point?”

He waved his stolen sandwich over the board, sprinkling it with crumbs.

“And why the hell are there so many of the same things? There's a bunch of those little ones and only a couple 'a the others. And you've both got 'em. Doesn't it get confusing?”

“Does the little man want to learn to play chess?” Heavy asked, smiling slightly at him. “Perhaps Doktor will teach you, if you ask kindly.”

“ _Nein_ ,” Medic said quickly, louder than he needed to. He coughed again. “Ah, no. I am much too busy these days. And it's _nicely_ , Heavy. To ask _nicely_.”

Heavy grumbled something under his breath and shifted in his chair, which creaked ominously beneath him. Scout took another bite of the sandwich.

“You could teach me, Doc,” he said, giving the man's shoulder a nudge. “You ain't all that busy, and I'm a quick learner, remember? You're free this evenin', right? Maybe I could swing by, get a quick lesson. It's can't be _that_ hard.”

Heavy gave the doctor a look that Scout missed the significance of. He was too busy watching the red creeping up the side of Medic's neck, and wondering what it meant. The Doc wasn't blushing. The Doc _couldn't_ be blushing. He never blushed, ever, about anything, and this was the guy who kept birds in the fucking operating room and named them after ancient philosophers or something. Maybe he had a rash or something that Scout hadn't noticed before.

Medic cleared his throat again.

“I don't think chess would be a very good game for you, Herr Scout,” he said stiffly, suddenly formal. Scout frowned.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Do not swear at Doktor,” Heavy growled, but Medic shook his head.

“For precisely that reason,” the doctor continued, not looking at Scout. “It is not a difficult game to learn, but it requires patience as well as strategy. There are rules to be followed. You are not good at rules, Scout. Or at thinking your actions through. You are too impulsive, too- too- _ach_ , what is the word...”

“Dumb?” Scout offered, bristling.

He came over here to get on the Doc's nerves, but it was starting to work the other way around. He wasn't good at thinking his actions through, what the hell did that mean? He was great planning. He knew exactly what he was doing. On the battlefield, anyway. He knew how to get a Heavy's attention and run circles around him, he knew how to skirt a Pyro and take out a Soldier midair. He knew how to time his jumps and when to go _fast_. And sure, he wasn't as smart as some of the others on the team – certainly not as smart as Medic, he could admit that – but if the Doc thought he was just a stupid kid he had another thing coming to him.

Medic sighed and made an exasperated little noise behind his teeth.

“ _Nein_ , that isn't what I was going to say. _Animated_. You are too _animated_. You don't know when to be still, you would go stir-crazy just sitting while I explained the rules. It isn't that I think you lack intelligence, Scout, rather that you don't have the right temperament. Stick to your American sports. Chess is not the game for you.”

Scout was still leaning on Medic. His forearm was resting on the man's shoulder, his hand hanging over so that his fingers barely brushed against the front of his waistcoat. Scout's hand clenched into a fist.

This wasn't about figuring Medic out anymore. This was about proving him wrong. And if there was one way to motivate Scout, it was to tell him that he couldn't do something.

“You're wrong,” he said, harshly enough to Medic to turn and look at him in surprise. “I can do anything I want. Fuck temperament or whatever, I don't believe in that shit. And I'm coming by tonight, old man, and if you're so damn smart you'll teach me how to play this stupid fuckin' board game until I can wipe the floor with you guys.”

He straightened up and smacked the startled Medic hard on the arm.

“Get some rest, Doc. Gimme a chance, then we'll see who's too fuckin' _animated._ ”

Scout shoved the rest of Heavy's sandwich into his mouth in two massive bites, cheeks bulging out as he chewed, and shook the crumbs off his hands over the chessboard. Both Heavy and Medic were staring at him with raised eyebrows, and he could feel their eyes on him as he stalked out of the Rec Room.

So his plan had backfired.

Whatever. Scout didn't back down from a challenge. Never had, never would. He could do any damn thing he put his mind to, his Ma taught him that when he was still too young for his brothers to beat it out of him. “The kid has heart,” Engie was always saying, and he was right.

 

* * *

 

Standing outside the double doors to the infirmary at almost 9:30 that night, Scout was beginning to reconsider his earlier bravado.

After storming out of the hall, Scout had immediately sought out Spy and set to annoying the hell out him just to make himself feel better. That ended about as well as one might expect. His arm still hurt from the way Spy had twisted it, but at least he hadn't ripped it off.

Scout stood in the waiting room, staring at the closed doors to the infirmary, wondering if he wouldn't be better off just leaving.

Medic wasn't going to teach him chess. He didn't even _want_ to learn to play chess. His pride and his damn mouth had gotten him into this situation, and now he couldn't see a way out without embarrassing himself further. He knew Medic was right. He didn't have the attention span to sit and memorize all the pieces and rules and stuff. One of Ma's “gentleman,” as she called them, had tried to teach him, years back when he was just a kid. Couldn't do it then, probably couldn't do it now even if he wanted to.

But he couldn't back out.

If he went in and said, “sorry Doc, you were right, I'm a moron,” then he would never hear the end of it. Spy definitely wouldn't let it go. So that option was out.

And if he left right now, without saying a word or making his presence known it would be just as bad. Medic would probably comment on the fact that he didn't show, ask if he was alright at the breakfast table or something. And if not him, Heavy would. There was no way out. He couldn't run, he couldn't own up to his mistake. The least he could hope for was that the doctor would take pity on him and keep his damn mouth shut.

Scout sighed heavily, then raised a bandaged hand and shoved the door open.

“Yo, Doc!” he called, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “You in here?”

Silence.

He expected Medic to be at his desk, doing some of the paperwork he was always complaining about, or hunched over his operating table doing weird shit to one of their organs he'd secretly removed. Sniper was absolutely sure Medic had done something to his kidneys the last time he was dumb enough to let himself get strapped down. Scout wouldn't be surprised.

But tonight the doctor was nowhere to be found.

Scout stood hesitantly by the door, swinging his arms, wondering if this was some sort of sign. A lucky break from the universe. But then he remembered that he didn't believe in luck, and heard the water running.

It wasn't coming from the big, steel industrial sink at the back of the operating room. He could see that, even in the dark. It sounded further in, like it was behind a wall or something. Curious, Scout took a few steps forward into the lab.

“Doc?” he called again, and still received no answer. The sound of running water was definitely louder the further in he went, so he kept going. He stepped around Medic's desk, which was covered in files and folders and a surprising number of pens, and looked to his left. There, tucked between two overflowing shelves, and half hidden behind a flimsy privacy screen, was a door Scout had never noticed before. And it was open.

Scout had always assumed that Medic slept in the room at the end of the dorm hall, with the little plus sign on the door, but now he wasn't so sure. From where he stood he could see the bottom half of a bed, a large, dusty looking old chest at the foot of it, and a small dresser pressed against the wall. There was another door just inside, which was also open, and that was there was water was coming from. The little porcelain sink was running, and Medic was bent over it brushing his teeth. He was dressed down to his shirtsleeves, which was something Scout would never get used to seeing. Without his big, flowy coat, he just looked too normal. Like someone you might see on the street.

There was a mirror over the sink, and in it Scout could see the way Medic's hair was damp and all messed up, and the way his tie was draped loosely around his neck. Medic spat into the sink and lifted his head to reveal that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Scout stood agape. He'd never seen Medic without his glasses before. Not once, and they'd known each other for what, almost a year? All that time, and he'd never seen the guy without the little wire rims on his face. The difference their absence made was surprising. The Doc looked... younger. It was a weird, they were just a pair of glasses. But they took away some of that cold professionalism that he carried with him. Made him look a touch more human.

Medic's eyes shifted in the mirror and locked with Scout's, and he promptly choked on the toothbrush still shoved in the side of his mouth.

Scout realised that he'd been standing there for at least a couple of minutes, mouth hanging open like an idiot, watching another guy brush his teeth. And now he'd been caught. His first instinct was to run. Running was always a good option. Anyone else and it might've worked. But this was Medic, and Medic was _fast_. If he came after him, there was no way Scout would make get away. He'd fucked up.

Medic rinsed his mouth quickly and shut the water off before straightening up.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he said chastisingly, drying his hands on the front of his shirt. “Why didn't you say something?”

“I did,” Scout said, closing his mouth with a snap. “Couple times, actually. You, uh, didn't hear.”

“Oh.” Medic stared at him, squinting slightly, and Scout realised he hadn't put his glasses back on. “Well, my apologies. Was there something I can do for you?”

“Well, yeah, you were gonna teach me to play chess, right?”

Realisation flashed across Medic's face, and Scout could have kicked himself. He hadn't even remembered. All that worry about backing out or looking like a fool, and the doctor had completely forgotten about the whole thing. Great. Fucking great.

Medic coughed awkwardly.

“I thought you were – I didn't think you were serious about that,” he said, eying Scout apologetically. Scout grimaced, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well, I was. But it's, uh, kinda late now, I guess, I mean you look like you're getting' ready for bed or somethin'.”

He glanced around Medic, back into the little room. Scout frowned.

“Is this where you stay?” he asked, boldly stepping forward and around Medic. He rested both hands on either side of the door frame, sticking his head in and taking a look around. Now, he could see that there was much more than just a bed and a dresser in there. There was a bookshelf that took up most of the wall by the door, practically overflowing with books. Beside the bed was a little end table with a lamp and an alarm clock on it. A pair of slippers were neatly tucked, side by side under the bed, and there were a few framed documents on the wall, but Scout couldn't read any of them. The little bathroom didn't look too shabby either. A little soap dispenser, a mirror, a towel rack on the wall. The place was downright homey.

Medic cleared his throat, closer than Scout expected him to be. Scout turned and smiled lopsidedly at him.

“Not bad, Doc. Smaller than the regular rooms, but the private bathroom is nice. Explains why I don't see you in the showers much.”

Medic raised his eyebrows.

“N-not that I go lookin' for you or anything,” he backpeddled quickly, feeling his face heat up. Jeez, where the fuck did that come from? Okay, yeah, so maybe he noticed the doc's absence a little more than he should have, and _definitely_ paid too much attention when he was there. But still. That just sounded... weird. Well not _weird_ weird, just...

Scout shuffled his feet a bit then remembered what'd happened the last time somebody scuffed the infirmary floors. He settled for rocking on his heels and not looking at Medic.

“So it's pretty late.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I guess chess it out then, huh?”

“Did you even want to learn?” Medic asked, narrowing his eyes, and Scout laughed nervously.

“Uh, no, not really, but... I mean, I came all the way down here, so we gotta do _something.”_

Medic crossed his arms over his chest. Without his vest and heavy coat on Scout could see the way his muscles showed through the fabric, bulging out as he shifted his upper arms and shoulders. Damn, the Doc was pretty stacked for an older guy. Which was a weird thing to notice right now, when it was all dark outside and they're half-standing in the guys bedroom, but whatever. He _was_ stacked.

“Do we, now?” Medic asked, and there was something weird about his voice. Like it was teasing, but not the way Scout thought it usually was. He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “And what exactly did you have in mind.”

“I dunno,” Scout shrugged. He mirrored Medic's posture, shoulder to the door frame and arms crossed loosely over his chest. “You got any bright ideas, smart guy?”

Medic smiled.

It was a little kinda twitch of his mouth at the corner, just enough for Scout to register. And he only had a moment to do so. One tiny, brief little sliver of a moment to catch the look, and then it all went to shit.

Medic moved. Not even all that fast, honestly, but Scout wasn't expecting it. He wasn't expecting the Doc to lean forward, towards him, all into his personal space and making the weirdly small distance between them even weirdly smaller. He wasn't expecting the Doc to put a hand on his chest, kinda right on the side over his ribs, and fuckin' pull him forward a little bit. And he _really_ wasn't expecting Medic to duck his head and stoop down to Scout's face level, and put their faces right up a-fuckin'- gainst each other and _kiss him._

That was definitely what was happening. Scout was aware of the movements in sequence, of being gently grabbed and pulled forward. And he could feel the warm, soft mouth moving against his own warm, soft mouth, and feelin' really nice while it did whatever it was doing. The large hand on his side was warm too. He could feel it through his shirt, feel himself leaning into it and forward. Like he was into it. Maybe a little into it. And yeah, so maybe he moved his mouth a little too, kissed back a little. Until the rough scrape of stubble brushed against his chin and Scout remembered exactly who it was that was kissing him.

Scout jerked back with a gasp.

Medic looked at him, just fuckin' looked at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows like _he_ was the one who'd just done something crazy and unexpected. But he let go, and kinda leaned back, holding his arms up like he didn't know what the fuck to do with them anymore.

“Oh,” was all he said.

And Scout ran.

 _What the fuck,_ was the overriding thought going through Scout's head as he sprinted out of the infirmary and back to his room. _What the fuck. What the fuck was that._

It was a fuckin' _kiss,_ fuckin' obviously. It was a kiss, on the mouth – on _his_ mouth – from Medic. Old, weird, crazy European whatever Medic. And worse, it was a _good_ kiss. Right? Was it good? Scout didn't have all that much experience kissing girls, not that he'd ever admit that out loud to anyone, and he had even less experience being kissed by full grown men, on the _mouth,_ out of _fucking nowhere._

He skidded around the corner and narrowly missed a clearly very drunk Demo as he flailed to regain balance. The Scotsman hollered something after him, but Scout was already leagues away, pushing himself to get out of sight and locked away as soon as fucking possible.

He didn't know why. Medic wasn't gonna come after him or anything – _please, God, don't let him come after me –_ but he didn't wanna take the chance of anyone seeing him all freaked out like that. Then they'd ask what was wrong. And then he'd have to tell them. Or lie, but honestly Scout was never that great at coming up with stuff on the spot. And if _Spy_ saw him – Jesus. Game over.

Scout slammed his door shut hard enough to rattle the hinges as soon as he was safely inside. And then he slumped to the floor.

What the fuck.

So that happened. That really fuckin' happened. Medic kissed him. Medic stood there in his weird secret bedroom all half undressed and relaxed looking and pulled them all close together and kissed him. All Scout wanted was a game of chess. No, all he wanted was to figure out what bugged the Doc. He wanted to find that button and get under his skin, not get the man out of his clothes.

Well that backfired. Spectacularly.

_Jeez._

Scout felt weird. He was all on edge and like fuckin' _tingly,_ like he had goosebumps only he didn't. He rubbed his hands over his arms a couple times just to check too, but that just made it worse.

He grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it over his head before throwing it in the pile with the rest of his dirty laundry – not that it was even dirty really, he'd probably wear it again tomorrow – and started pacing around his room. Trying to burn off energy. It wasn't even 10 p.m. and he wasn't tired, but there was no way he was going back out there. No way at all. He'd just stay in here and pace and breathe normally and not think about the fact that he could taste mint in his mouth.

Scout looked down and himself and realized he'd been peeling off clothes this whole time. His underwear was pushed halfway down his ass like he was getting ready to take them off too. He quickly pulled them back up.

“I'll just sleep,” he told himself out loud, sitting quickly on the edge of his bed. “I'll just- just go to sleep and tell him to fuck off tomorrow. Yeah. I can go to sleep.”

His mother had a saying that going to bed was like hitting life's reset button. You wake up in the morning and it's a fresh new day and yesterday didn't matter at all. 'Course she usually reset with a Valium or two, but Scout would just have to make do on his own.

He shimmied under the covers and pulled them back up to his chin, and resolved not to go through with his usual pre-sleep routine of jacking off because that would just be a little too much for him to handle right now.

Surprisingly, he was asleep within minutes.

 

* * *

 

Scout skipped mealtimes for three days straight. He snuck into the kitchens at midnight and right before matches and ate as much as he could so he didn't have to be in the same room as Medic for more than thirty seconds. During start-up time, Scout was the first out the gate and the last one to come back in when the end bell rang.

And he wasn't like he was avoiding the guy. Not really. Well maybe a little, but not to be mean about or anything he just... didn't know what to say. Or what Medic would say. And he'd definitely say something, because he always did no matter what the issue was. Scout didn't wanna be around for this issue.

But the Doc hadn't exactly come looking for him either. It was kinda like maybe they were avoiding each other.

And other people were starting to notice, of course, because there's no fuckin' privacy in a building with nine guys – eight guys? What the hell even is Pyro, Scout still wasn't sure – and it had been sheer luck to far that no one had asked him what was going on. Spy was giving him funny looks and, shit, even Sniper kept doing this thing where he'd act like he was lookin' one direction but from the way he was tilting his hat out of his eyes Scout knew he was looking right at him. Fucker.

This was all wrong. This wasn't how things were supposed to play out.

It was the worst at night, though. When there wasn't the constant sound of shouting or gunfire and Scout had nowhere to be but in his own head. Didn't matter how much he told himself not to think about it or how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, the memory always found a way to replay itself, over and over and fucking over behind his eyelids. Not that Scout had any problems with fantasizing about people, but the fact that Medic was a.) a guy b.) his teammate and c.) probably as old as the fucking universe kind of made things a little awkward.

He kept seeing Medic with his shirt open – sometimes with his shirt _off,_ if his imagination really felt like fucking with him – kind of towering over him, not like he was taller or anything just taking up his whole field of vision. He was always younger looking in Scout's head, maybe just because he didn't have his glasses on, and Scout always got the impression of _softness._ Soft touches, soft hands, soft lips. Soft breath on his cheek, sometimes his neck, sometimes... lower. Scout always woke himself up pretty quickly when it got that that point, but the fact that it kept happening wasn't making things any easier.

To be honest it was a little disappointing to compare the dream to the real man, with his greying hair and tired eyes – was he not sleeping too or did he just fuckin' look like that? – and always wearing those thick goddamn gloves.

One night Scout realized that that'd been the first time he'd ever actually seen Medic's hands. And _that_ just made things really worse.

Scout was determined to avoid Medic forever. There were only three and a half years left on his contract. He could totally do it, it was fine.

Unless someone interfered.

“Doktor!”

“Hey, lemme go, man!”

Heavy's grip on his shoulder wasn't even all that strong, but Scout was too weak from blood loss to struggle out of it. The gash in his side was courtesy of the enemy Sniper and his weird, oversized knife, which totally wasn't fuckin' compensating for anything. Scout was putting pressure on it as best he could, but the blood had already completely soaked through his hand wraps. If he could get to a health pack, even a small one, it would be enough to tide him over so he could push back to Resupply. But that wasn't gonna happen if this big lug didn't let go of him.

“Doktor will help,” Heavy said firmly, putting an end to Scout's squirming with a gentle squeeze. Scout whined pathetically. He didn't _want_ Medic's help. He'd gone almost a whole week without making eye contact with the man, he didn't wanna wreck that streak over a goddamn papercut.

“ _Schweinhund,”_ they heard Medic growl from nearby, followed by the sickening crunch and gurgle of someone being sent to Respawn via bone saw. A moment later, Medic rounded the corner while tucking the vicious instrument back into his belt. He stopped dead at the sight of Scout caught in Heavy's grip.

Scout was too slow looking down. He looked Medic full in the face, and doc looked straight back at him.

“Scout is hurt,” Heavy said loudly, after an uncomfortable amount of time had passed without anyone saying or doing anything. Medic's mouth had been hanging open slightly – which Scout noticed by accident, not because he was staring at it or anything – but closed with a snap at Heavy's words. He broke eye contact first by looking down at his Medigun, and Scout remembered to stop holding his breath.

Unfortunately the doc was using the stock Medigun with the taped up barrel, and it healed slow as shit. Scout could feed the wound in his side healing as the beam connected with him, feel the skin and muscle knitting itself back together which was always going to be a fuckin' _weird_ sensation, and every second that passed it became a little easier for him to breath. Heavy let go of his shoulder as the overheal began to set in. Scout was still covered in blood, but at least now he'd stopped bleeding.

“Thanks, Doc,” he said, and briefly registered the surprise on Medic's face before running away literally as fast as he could.

Overheal was a helluva thing, Scout told himself. That's why his face was flushed and his hands were shaking. Definitely just that.

He avoided Medic for the rest of the battle and only Respawned twice because of it. And at the end of the day Scout was actually toying with the idea of eating dinner with the rest of the team. He missed hot food. And it was Spy's turn to cook, which meant whatever was put on the table was going to look absolutely disgusting but taste amazing, even if it had too many veggies in it. Yeah. Scout would go eat. And if Medic was there, so what. They didn't have to talk to each other. About anything. Definitely not at the dinner table. It would be fine.

Or not.

“Take this to doktor,” Heavy said, shoving a tray of food into Scout's hands as soon as he set foot in the mess hall.

“Aw, c'mon!”

“He is very busy. Needs to be reminded to eat.”

“Well why don't you take it to him, fat ass?”

Poking fun at Heavy's size was another good way to get a rise out of him. That was one of the first things Scout learned. And sure enough, there was that little dent thing in his cheek that showed up when he frowned and clenched his teeth at the same time.

“Am also busy man,” he said, holding open the door Scout had just come through. “Little man is not busy, and has nothing to do but eat and make noise. So take food to doktor first.”

Scout looked down at the tray, screwing up his face at the sight of the soupy grey concoction. It jiggled when he shook it, and there was some kind of leaf just fuckin' sitting on top of it.

“What even is this?” he asked. Heavy shrugged and gestured to the door. Scout deeply regretting his hands being too full to flip the bird at him.

Scout grumbled all the way down the hallway. Of course the infirmary was all the way on the other ass-end of the base, and of course just _had_ to be the one to take the plate of weird food all the way there. He had to walk, too. The grey stuff wobbled alarmingly if he went too fast, adding a new level to his own personal hell.

Heavy set this up on purpose. Oh, boo-hoo, so Medic was shit at taking care of himself, whatever, he was still a grown ass man. If he wanted food he could go and get it himself. But _no,_ Scout had take it to him. And he couldn't just dump in the trash and go back to eat for himself because Heavy would definitely find out about that and then he'd be all quietly disappointed and eventually make Scout feel bad enough to apologize and just... He didn't feel like dealing with that.

But this was about more than just food and Scout knew it. He'd seen the big guy watchin' him, and watching Medic, knew how buddy-buddy close they were. Half the team thought they were shtupping each other anyway, but Scout had evidence to the contrary, unless Medic was an even bigger asshole that he already seemed.

Heavy was trying to make them talk again. Which was bullshit. Because he didn't know what the hell was going on – he better fuckin' not, unless Medic told him, the very idea of which made something cold and hard settle in Scout's stomach – and it wasn't his job to butt into other people's business. He wasn't anybody's ma.

Scout sulked the entire journey, a knot of anxiety forming in his innards the closer he got.

 _I'll just hand him the food and leave,_ he planned to himself. _Don't gotta look at him or say anything. Drop the food and go._

He looked back down at the gloop soup, watching it jiggle in time with his steps. Whatever the fuck it was, it smelled good. There'd better be some left by the time he got back, because Spy didn't believe in “oversized portions.”

The infirmary doors were closed when Scout approached and they didn't budge when he pushed against them with his shoulder. Locked. Fuckin' great. The problem was he didn't know if Medic was inside or outside.

Scout caught his lower lip between his buck teeth, gnawing indecisively while he weighed the pros and cons of knocking:

Pro: Heavy couldn't say he didn't even try to deliver the meal and therefore wouldn't have any right to be mad at him.

Con: Medic might answer the door.

He couldn't risk it.

“Just gonna leave this here...” he muttered, bending down to carefully set the tray in front of the double doors. They opened inward, so even if Medic opened them they wouldn't mess up the food. He stood up and took a step back to admire his contribution to team morale. “There. Fine. Done.”

Scout turned around and screamed.

Medic was standing right behind him.

“Jesus Christ, Doc!” he yelped, staggering back until he bumped into the doors. “Ya can't sneak up on a guy like that!”

“What are you doing here, Scout?” Medic asked coolly. He looked perfectly calm standin' with his hands behind his back like that, just fuckin' _watching_ him. Scout put a hand to his own chest in mock arrest.

“I was bringin' you dinner, _asshole,”_ he added, glaring. “Heavy's orders. Your _ma-moosh-ka_ said he's too busy to hand-feed you tonight.”

Medic's eyes narrowed, but he ignored the comment. He looked down at the floor and titled his head.

“Is that my food?”

Scout followed his eyeline to the tray under his foot. The sole of his shoe was sat right in the middle of the gloop.

“Aw, man...”

He heard Medic tut and quickly hopped out of the way, keeping his dirty foot in the air. Medic produced a ring of jingly keys from one of his pockets and swiftly unlocked the doors. He stooped and picked up the tray before heading inside.

“Come in and I will get you a rag. Don't get any of that on my floors.”

Scout wobbled awkwardly on one foot in the doorway. If he ran, he'd leave a trail of soup that led right to him, and then he'd have the rest of the night mopping. Fuck that. Just get the rag, clean up, get this over with, and leave. Simple. And hopefully painless.

“I've been meaning to speak to you,” Medic said, dashing all of Scout's hopes for a quick escape. The doctor took the ruined tray back to the sink with him and set it to the side. He grabbed a grody lookin' dishrag from the cabinet underneath and headed back in Scout's direction.

“Yeah, what about?” Scout asked, when it became clear Medic wasn't gonna continue without prompting. He took the proffered rag and set about wiping off his shoe. Medic sighed.

“The very same reason you have been avoiding me this week. Come inside, _bitte,_ I doubt you would like this conversation to be overheard.”

 _Fuck,_ Scout thought as he shuffled awkwardly forward. The doors swished shut behind him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Medic shrugged out of his lab coat and Scout swallowed hard, trying and failing not to stare at the way the muscles of his back shifted under his shirt. The coat was hung neatly on a hook, leaving Medic in his shirt and vest and looking weirdly smaller without it. He turned, maybe making sure Scout was even still there, before he started to talk.

“I kissed you,” was his opening line. Scout choked on his own spit.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you did. Kinda without warning, if ya ask me.”

Medic raised an eyebrow.

“Should I have announced myself?”

“Probably, but I know you guys ain't all that good at announcing invasions.”

 _That_ was a spot even Scout had been hesitant to poke at, and with good reason if the way the doc's eyes flashed was any indication.

“I did not mean to _invade_ you, Scout,” Medic said, then paused and cleared his throat. “I thought... the way you have been acting toward me, I believed that you may have had some interest in...”

He stopped. There was something about his expression, but Scout couldn't put his thumb on what it was. Did he look disappointed? Guilty? Apologetic? None of those were particularly common expressions for the doc anyway, Scout didn't think he'd recognize them even in context. But before he could figure out it was, much less what it meant, Medic was talking again.

“Perhaps I misinterpreted, hm? The constant pestering, the hanging around my place of work, the crude and juvenile attempts at flirting.” Medic leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Coming down to see me in the middle of the night. I knew you didn't really want to learn how to play chess, Scout. I assumed it was simply another attempt to get my attention, and I admit I was... _intrigued_ by your apparent interest. I thought that you were trying to get me alone.”

Scout's face felt hot. He was probably redder than his shirt. It _did_ sound like he was interested, didn't it? Like a dumb fuckin' kid, pulling the pigtails of the girl he liked.

But Scout wasn't a kid. And Medic wasn't a girl with pigtails.

“No, I wasn't- I mean, I didn't- that's not it okay, I was just...”

“What _were_ you trying to do, exactly?” Medic asked, looking at him over the rims of his little glasses. Scout suddenly felt like a naughty schoolboy, trying to explain away a dumb prank that only seemed funny at the time. He wrapped arm around around himself, grabbing his elbow with the opposite hand.

“I was just tryin' to annoy you, man,” he said lamely.

Medic stared at him with an expression of sheer exasperation. For a split second, Scout could have sworn he looked angry. But then his shoulders slumped. He looked down and huffed out a little laugh, shaking his head like he just got the joke or something. Scout shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Forgive me,” the doctor said, straightening up and pushing back off his desk. He sounded tired. “I apologize. I should not have presumed anything more of you.”

Scout's mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

_Ah jeez._

Did Medic just admit to liking him? Or being attracted to him or whatever? Was that even a possibility? Yeah, so, Scout knew he was hot stuff, but it wasn't really very often that anybody else seemed to know that. And did he sound disappointed that Scout might not like him after all? Did he really care that much or somethin'?

“Hold on,” Scout said just as Medic was about to sit down. “Look, it's not- you don't gotta apologize, okay? Well maybe you kinda do just 'cause it's polite and shit but yeah, I was just kiddin' about being invaded or whatever, it wasn't like that. You just kinda, uh, went for it. I mean, that's not what I came down here for, sure, and it was all fuckin' unexpected and stuff, but it's not like- I mean- it wasn't _bad-”_

Medic was staring at him again, half poised to sit down with his hands resting on the top of the desk. Scout realized for once in his life that he was talking too much. So he shut up, and went with the first impulse that fired in his brain.

Scout took a couple steps forward for momentum and lunged forward. He balanced one hand on the desk and used the other to reach out and grab hold of Medic's tie sticking out of the top of his vest. He gave it a yank to pull the doc closer and bent over the big desk to meet him halfway. With his eyes squeezed tight shut, Scout managed to hit his mark.

Medic's mouth was still soft, just like he half-remembered, but he didn't taste like mint anymore. He tasted like Scout didn't even know what, teeth or something. There was stubble on his chin again, but it wasn't such a fucking shock this time. This time, it was okay.

Scout let go of the soft fabric of Medic's tie when he felt a sufficient amount of time had passed for his point to across. And all of a sudden the impulse section of his brain shut down, and Scout found himself bent over a desk with Medic's face way, way too close to his own.

He turned to run.

Medic caught him by his arm before he could make it two steps, holding him back with surprising strength. Scout turned around desperately, surprised to find a frown on the doctor's face.

“Is this going to become a habit?” he asked as Scout stopped trying to pull meekly out of his grip. “You come down here for something else and run away when we end up kissing each other?”

Scout laughed nervously.

“I got worse habits.”

Medic looked at him hard for a moment longer. When he smiled, Scout knew things were gonna be alright. His fingers loosened around Scout's wrist half a second before he let him go. Scout grinned at him.

He darted in again, quicker than the doctor could react, and kissed him again. Just really lightly, almost sweet if he was gonna be gross about it. But then he really did run away. And Medic didn't stop him or nothin' even when his shoe squeaked and left a black mark on the floors.

Yeah. Things were gonna be alright.

And now at least, fuckin' finally, he knew what one'a Medic's weaknesses was. He could work with that.

 

 


End file.
